The Ways We Met
by Mirilla
Summary: A collections of short stories about the ways one of the infamous pairings in history have their disastrous first meeting in an alternate universe.
1. One Man, One Woman, One Unfortunate Cab

**One Man, One Woman, One Unfortunate Cab Driver**

Walter Grant was forty seven years old and drove cabs for a living. He was an honest man who was easily satisfied, with his greatest worries limited to the payment of the month's bills, birthday present selections for his two teenagers and remembering his wedding anniversary. He didn't love his job, but it was needed to make ends meet and he hadn't, in the past twenty odd years, considered giving up his job –until now.

"The umbrella you ruined cost me twenty dollars," the woman snarled in spite of her obvious shivering. He couldn't blame her for trembling; it was cold out in pouring London, especially in this time of the year and rainwater dripped from every inch of her.

She was a subtly pretty sort of woman, in her early twenties with mahogany curls kept in a ponytail, mussed by the humidity. She was easy on the eyes; slender with all the curves in the right places, sun-kissed skin, a pleasant face and bright green eyes that would have been much prettier if they weren't so intent on burning holes into her friend.

Or at least, what Walter assumed was her friend. It was just as likely that he would be her first homicide victim.

He, on the other hand, was obviously, almost flamboyantly, handsome, with dark and shaggy windswept hair that was slightly damp with the rain, sharp blue-grey eyes and a strong, masculine jaw line. He was well built and broad across the shoulders, tall enough that his legs had to be cramped under the seat with a lean figure that promised to do well in any athletic sport. Walter was strongly reminded of one of those brooding 'bad boys' that his daughter regularly swooned over.

He was dressed in a well-cut suit, complete with a dark blue tie and crisp white shirt, screaming loaded for the entire world to hear. The man was not amused and the glare he leveled at her conveyed it. "That Armani suit cost me two thousand," he pointed to the blazer draped over her shoulders, steely blue eyes narrowing. His daughter would have completely melted under that smoldering stare, Walter decided. The smooth British accent that Walter was so used to seemed very sophisticated when it rolled off his tongue. The little lady, however, bristled.

"In case you didn't notice," she bit back, her tone equally icy, "it is twenty five degrees out and my shirt is _white_. Oh wait, you did notice, since you obviously got me drenched on purpose, you _pervert_." She appeared to be trying, and failing, to stomp down on the urge to viciously stab the man in the chest with her newly broken umbrella.

The man either didn't notice or didn't care. He was affronted by the allegation and wasn't afraid to show it. "It was an accident," he insisted, and the temperature of the cab dropped to zero degrees Celsius. "I was getting into the cab–"

"A cab _I_ was hailing down," she interrupted. "And you _accidentally_ knocked my umbrella away, causing it to get run over by a _truck_." She didn't mention that she had promptly shoved herself into the cab after the man, demanded his jacket and compensation for her umbrella, all of which, Walter witnessed. He had to give her credit though; the little missy had _spunk_. He could count on one hand the number of women he knew who would have reacted with anything other than stuttering and flirts with this very attractive and evidently wealthy young man. Her words were laced with acid and practically dripping with venom.

Walter believed it was about time he interrupted, before a murder happened in the back seat of his cab. "The-There's a towel in the back of that seat you might want to use, miss," he ventured. He had tried to keep himself warm and friendly, like the manager of the company had instructed them to multiple times, but his nervousness showed through.

The woman, however, didn't seem to notice his slight stutter. After extracting the slightly worn towel, she smiled at him through the rear view mirror through the rear view mirror and the transformation was instantaneous. Perhaps it was how her eyes lit up and glittered in the light; or the way deep dimples made their way to either cheek; or the genuine gratitude that shone through her expression; but at that moment, Walter Grant could easily say that she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever the pleasure to meet.

Her companion frowned as he watched her, unhappy with the obvious difference in treatment. "Obviously, he _would_ offer you a towel. You are dripping all over his car." Walter desperately prayed that he wouldn't get any dragged further into the conversation than that. The woman's difference in conduct was made even more apparent when the woman turned back to the man when he spoke again.

The lovely brunette glowered. "And whose fault is that?"

"Yours," the man haughtily replied, and Walter knew, from twenty years of marriage, that this was not going to end any time soon. "It was _you_ who deigned to enter the cab whilst soaked to the bone."

Walter wondered if the atmosphere in his cab could freeze beer.

"I hope you die in a car crash," sneered the lady. Ah, they had already escalated to death threats. What was the expression that sailor from last winter used? Ah yes, that was right, cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.

It was probably time for him to interrupt, especially since he had driven aimlessly into town for the past few minutes. Not that it felt like minutes. "Pardon the interruption, but where should I be heading?"

"Longbourn Hotel," the man said crisply, ignoring the woman. The little missy cast the man a horrified look and he snapped, agitated and more than just a little infuriated by her insinuation. "You aren't nearly pretty enough for _anyone_ to attempt anything of the sort." Walter winced, partly for the sake of the pretty missy on the account of the obviously false and hurting statement, and partly for the man, seeing as the lady's eyes were growing darker with the promise of pain. "I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole even if heavily compensated in cash."

Then –_God save me_ –the green-eyed woman smiled brightly and Walter could see the burning of Hell through his rear view mirror. "Well," she retorted, her tone cloy. Her words and expression was so overflowing with obviously false, mawkish, saccharine sweetness that Walter might have laughingly gagged if it weren't so bloodcurdlingly terrifying. "I _would_ shove a ten foot pole up your ass without any sort of monetary compensation, but there's one already there."

"We're here!" Walter announced, a little too loudly and too enthusiastically, the cab skidding a little on the road, accidentally soaking the shoes of a bell boy who promptly yelped in shock. He had kept under the speed limit, but it was a little too fast for rainy weather. Either way, he was glad that the pair could finally step out of his cab.

To his surprise, the little lady was the one who got out first, handing him a wad of cash and telling him to keep the change, tucking the neatly folded towel into the front seat and rudely throwing the man's blazer in his face. She then bolted out of the car, four inch stilettos in one hand as she raced up the marble steps of the Longbourn Hotel.

The remaining passenger growled under his breath, tossing his dampened jacket over one shoulder and thanking Walter with a surprising amount of civility, given the way he had treated the missy earlier. Then he was out and off, with Walter Grant hoping that he would never have such difficult customers ever again.


	2. Kindergarten Warfare

**Kindergarten Warfare**

As much as he appreciated having a child as precocious as Elizabeth, Bennet (as he was universally addressed, by his friends and even his wife) couldn't help but think that intelligent children brought with them a whole litany of problems. For one thing, the knowledge that she was almost always right brought a certain amount of pride for her brains, even at the tender age of five. This created a headstrong child with a stubborn steak as wide as the sky and a penchant for taking things into her own hands.

Bennet rubbed at the bridge of his nose tiredly as he exited the principal's office for what must have been a record number of visits. He made his way to the classroom where his two daughters occupied with the other kindergarten students.

In the little classroom, Elizabeth sat with her little chair facing the corner for what Bennet assumed to be a 'time out'. Her riotous mahogany curls down to her shoulders, tiny limbs folded in obvious indignation. It amused Bennet to no end, how passionate Elizabeth was.

Her sister Jane was dutifully sitting beside her, her own chair facing outwards instead, carefully filling in a small coloring book on her lap with bright Crayola. In spite of the not very solid makeshift table of her lap, she was doing a remarkable job of keeping within the lines. In contrast to Elizabeth, Jane had a head of pale, neat ringlets and it was obvious from her tiny, pointed nose and heart shaped face that she would grow to be a heartbreaker.

While Jane was soft spoken and quiet, Elizabeth was a lot more hot headed, making them well suited to each other. They seemed to think so too; they were so often together that one would hardly be seen without the other.

Jane smiled at him as he approached, gently nudging Elizabeth who relented to her sister's prodding with a scowl. Her wide, dark eyes seemed to dare him to berate her.

With a longsuffering sigh, Bennet steeled himself. The only furniture in the room seemed to be the stools for dwarfs and the equally miniature tables, both of which he was unsure would support his weight, so he settled from getting on his knees. "Lizzy," he called out to her placatingly, watching her defensive posture soften the tiniest bit. But her frown didn't relent. "Want to tell me what happened?"

"Darcy," Elizabeth spat the name out like a curse. While he could see himself chiding her for doing so in her teens, right now her voice was still too high pitched for it to come across as anything but adorable. "Darcy called me ugly so I told him that he was poop head that ant-forces objecting the female body. Which makes people to puke their food on purpose. Then I told him to shut up or I'd puke on him."

Bennet wondered if six-year olds were supposed to be this smart. While he was glad that Elizabeth seemed to get the impromptu lecture he gave when she came to him with one of her mother's fashion magazines, she also seemed determined to hone her knowledge into a weapon. While was tempted to correct her ("enforces, Lizzy, like enable and enter, and objectifying; objecting means disagree-"), he needed to settle the problem first.

"And?" He already knew the whole story of course, but Lizzy had already pointed out how unfair it was that he didn't try to listen to her side of the story just two weeks ago.

"Then he told me ugly people shouldn't talk to him so I stopped talking to him."

Bennet groaned, turning to Jane instead. After she cast a hesitant glance at Elizabeth, who rolled her eyes but gave her a slight nod, Jane spoke up. "She, um, well, she told everyone that he wanted to be puked on."

Suppressing a grin, Bennet looked back to Elizabeth who stuck her chin out defiantly. His brave, intelligent, headstrong daughter. Really, how was he supposed to punish her when she got in trouble for things like this?

"This Darcy boy," Bennet began. "Was he the one who you pushed off the swing last week?"

Elizabeth nodded, bobbing her little head. "Yeah, but I didn't even touch him this time! Violets is wrong and punishment isn't good if they don't know they are being punished. They'll just think it's not fair."

"Violence, Lizzy. Vi. Uh. Len. Ss."

Both girls repeated after him dutifully.

Eager to continue explaining why she wasn't wrong, Elizabeth added: "So I used words to tell him why it is wrong. Like you taught me!"

It seemed that teaching Lizzy things only dug pits for himself to fall into, Bennet mused. But she was so insatiably curious, so keen to learn and such an excellent student that Bennet couldn't help but feel proud.

He was interrupted by a small boy tapping him on the shoulder. Dark hair and blue eyes, the child looked brooding and taciturn even at his young age. His posture was ramrod straight, but Bennet saw that he was nervous from the muted fidgeting of his hands and the pinched discomfort of his expression.

"I'm sorry for calling you ugly," he blurted out without warning.

Elizabeth, in typical Elizabeth fashion, was unsatisfied with this. "I hope you get puked on."

"Lizzy!" Jane's horrified voice was chorused with Bennet's stern one.

She wrinkled her nose, then told the boy imperiously: "Fine. I'm sorry for telling everyone to puke on you."

They watched each other in silence for a while and Bennet could clearly see the boy straining under the weight of the attention. Not only Bennet and Jane, but everyone else in the room was fully absorbed in their interaction. Truly a boy after his own heart; Bennet himself had never been comfortable with any sort of social attention.

Deciding to give him a form of escape, he clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Thank you," Bennet told him. "You have been very brave, coming to apologize to my stubborn little Lizzy."

Bennet could feel the disapproval radiating from Elizabeth, but she kept mercifully silent. The boy looked at him unsurely, then cast a sidelong glance at Elizabeth. He caught her eye, she masked her unhappiness, and he quickly looked away, embarrassed to have been caught looking.

Taking in the boy's red ears, Bennet wanted to cackle. His Lizzy was already gathering admirers, it seemed. It would explain why all the antics he did that were aimed at Elizabeth alone; putting glue in her hair, forcing her to leave her books to play, staring at her with what Lizzy told him was 'con-den-day-shun'… Jane had told him that the boy usually kept to himself and that he behavior towards Elizabeth was quite uncharacteristic.

The boy fled the scene and into the skirts of Mrs. Darcy, who gave him a small smile. She and himself almost always found themselves meeting the principal, it seemed. He made a mental note to call her about his newfound suspicion and instead settled for giving her a wry smile in return.

He turned back to his daughters, knowing that he needed to do this now, lest his wife try to take things into her own hands. Bless her heart, the woman, while well-meaning, couldn't seem to understand that Elizabeth wouldn't just believe something was wrong simply because her mother told her so.

"Now, Lizzy, never do that again. When you tell people to do things like that, you encourage them to bully someone." Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. It seemed he still needed to persuade her on the subject. He gestured for her and Jane to get up. He might as well explain as they went home.

"Children are impressionable, so telling them to do things means someone is likely to follow. This can create a mob behavior-"

"What's a mob behavior?" Elizabeth asked, helping Jane with her coat as her sister returned the favor.

"Well, crowd psychology shows that people in groups think differently from just one person on his own. This is because people feel less responsible and tend to believe what is normal is right…"

* * *

Depending on how well received and how inspired I am regarding a particular version of events, I might do multiple parts on the same universe. Please, do tell me what you think!


End file.
